The Elements of Meredith Grey
by starclouds
Summary: I’m Meredith Grey. Screwed up, messed up, and mostly running in circles. Yep, that’s me." There are five things that make and break Meredith Grey. Mercentric, runs the length of 4x05 to 4x11. Please read and review!
1. Medicine

**A/N: New story, obviously Mercentric and runs the length from post 4x05 to post 4x11. Hee. Obviously, just five chapters. Couldn't get the idea out of my head. Haha. Enjoy. Please read and review:)**

**The Elements of Meredith Grey**

I'm Meredith Grey. Screwed up, messed up, and mostly running in circles. Yep, that's me. See, while most people think I've got everything in the palm of my hand, I don't. I live my life in complete imperfection, and for the most part, I think my life sucks the most.

There are five things that make Meredith Grey. All of the issues and the happy thoughts and the problems and teeny tiny insecurities inside the deep recesses of my brain come from these five things. Five things that make and break Meredith Grey. Five things you should know why I'm like this right now.

**One: Medicine **

Like I said before, I'm screwed. Well, actually I'm not but I tend to be glass half-empty most of the time that's why I think I'm screwed.

See, I'm standing here in the middle of OR 3 right beside my pseudo-father figure Richard Webber as he slices a man open while I hold a retractor in place, hissing instructions about suctioning to my intern at the same time. He then proceeds to tell us a story about one particular surgery he shared with my mother.

I'm screwed. Because inside this OR, there are about ten scrub nurses, some of which have actually lived to be in one of my mother's famous surgeries, one attending who at some point in his life has been one of my mother's suck-ups, and two of my interns who probably have heard of my mother's greatness when they were stupid little runts in med school. Oh, and did I mention that my mother Ellis Grey used to be the _other woman_ in Richard Webber's life?

But that's beside the point. The point is, I'm Meredith Grey and my mother is THE great Ellis Grey. It's either I'm going to be as good as she was or I'm going to suck at it and people will hate me. It's something I have to live with because I don't have a freakin' choice.

Two hours later, I realize I've been standing in the scrub room staring at the sink and my arms are still dripping wet. I didn't even notice the Chief standing behind me as I continued to stare at the metal faucet for no particular reason. There was actually a reason, but, it's not like he would know that by staring at me.

"Meredith?" I turn around and find the Chief's face wrinkling in confusion as he stared at me. "Are you alright?"

"Chief!" I mumble sort of incoherently, grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser beside me. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just… lost track of time I guess." Somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain, I knew that was a lame excuse. How the hell could someone just lose track of time standing in front of a sink anyway?!

He tilts his head ever so slightly to the side, probably trying to gauge if I was telling him the truth. I continue to wipe my arms dry, my eyes intently focused on my hands and I could literally feel the Chief staring at me. Boring into my innermost thoughts just by staring at me. Reading my body language as if it would lead him into some insight as to what I was thinking.

Either that or he's just way too amused as he continued to stare at me. If that was the case, then Richard Webber was officially scary.

"Your mother would be very proud of you today." He said softly, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder. I smile at him weakly and direct my gaze back towards the cold metal sink, partly remembering the washing away of my mother's ashes I did a few days ago. "You did a good job earlier." He adds, smiling slightly at me.

"I… uh… thanks." I mutter softly before I face him again.

The thing is, the surgery we just did wasn't anything out of the ordinary. The guy needed an appendectomy, I've had it done before, I've seen it done a hundred times (literally) and the Chief of Surgery is still standing in front of me, commending me for doing a great job out of something I've seen before. It was incredibly weird, and scary, and very, very confusing.

"You remind me so much of Ellis when we were both residents." He says slowly, careful to look at me in the eye. Somewhere deep inside, I really didn't want to talk to the Chief of Surgery about my mother, especially after I learn that my mother was the ex-mistress. "You're a very insightful young woman. A surgeon with great skills in precision and accuracy. You obviously got that from your mother." Richard utters proudly as he crosses his arms across his chest and continue to stare at me.

I stare right back at him. See, the thing is, I don't like being compared to my mother. Or being told that I am just like her. Because deep inside this dark and twisty head of mine, I am Meredith Grey—Ellis Grey's ordinary, unfocused and oftentimes a failure of a daughter. I'm not the great, intellectual doctor everyone thinks I am, because for the most part, I can't even figure out my own life.

"You were born to be a surgeon, Meredith."

Boom. There it goes. I absolutely have no idea how we ended up with this conversation about me being a surgeon, seeing as it stemmed from me staring blankly at the sink. But we're here now, the Chief of Surgery and me, talking about how I was born to be a surgeon. I exhale deeply, the words barely even sinking the minor processes of my brain.

"Oh…"

I really wanted to believe what the Chief said. I really wanted to believe the words that Richard Webber had just said, but the truth is I don't. The only reason he's saying that is because Ellis Grey is my mother, and her so-called legacy is haunting me. He's only saying that because he loved Ellis Grey at some point in his life, and he promised her that he'd take care of me.

Medicine is my life. I was born into the world of medicine, with what my mother was and my father being a medical researcher. I've always wanted to be a doctor, but not because of Ellis Grey. I've always wanted to feel the thrill that my mother felt when I watched her while growing up. I've always wanted to heal people because seriously, healing others means I can heal myself too. But then, my life is screwed, and it's not because of the medicine. It's because I'm the daughter of the great Dr. Ellis Grey, and being her daughter, officially, makes your life as screwed as hell.


	2. Tequila

**A/N: Sorry, so, so sorry for not updating right away! I got stuck with school and all those stuff and kinda left this one on the backseat. Anyway, here's the latest installment. Still not much reviews, but I'm hoping we'll get there. Hee. :) I have another story brewing somewhere and hopefully all the school stuff boils down so I can start with it. For the meantime, enjoy this one. Don't forget, please read and review! Thanks so much:)**

**Two: Tequila**

Jose is my very best friend. Other than Cristina, of course.

He's been a very good friend of mine right from the beginning, just as he is being a good friend to me and my friends right now as we all sit here in Joe's counter, chugging down alcohol like there's no tomorrow. Tequila has always been my poison of choice ever since I discovered him back when I was in stringy bubble-gum pink hair and Goth inspired outfits. For the record, that was about a decade and a half ago.

The thing with tequila is that I know I'll be sorry when I wake up in the morning. I've always been sorry the moment I experienced the wondrous headache Jose brings when I get up—memories of the night before long gone and some unknown guy sleeping next to me naked. But that's not going to happen to me tonight. No sir, not anymore.

There are five upturned shot glasses in front of me and I've turned them into a little pyramid. It's a sure sign that I'm not drunk yet but a few more and everything will come tumbling down, along with my sanity and everything else that comes with it. Alex is sitting next to me, downing a bottle of beer in two gulps and he shakes his head when he meets my eyes, immediately grabbing the shot that Joe just poured out.

"Hey!" I whine, hitting him slightly on the arm as he winces from the burning sensation the tequila brought to his throat, "That was mineeeee! Get your own poison."

Alex grunts at me, rolling his eyes as he flips over the shot glass. "You've had enough Meredith. I don't think you'd be able to walk out that door if you had that shot." I glare at him and motion for Joe to bring me another. "Suit yourself." He says, shrugging his shoulders and leaves when Joe comes over bearing my best friend Jose.

On my other side sat Cristina, while Izzie and George had the table behind us all to themselves. We're all drinking ourselves crazy, but it's not like they have worst problems than I do.

"What's up with you?" Cristina asked wryly as I flipped another shot glass on the counter. "Are you drinking yourself dry?"

"Probably."

"Is there any particular reason?"

I look back at Cristina and roll my eyes at her, motioning to Joe to line up a few more shots for me. He shakes his head as he reluctantly places three more shots of tequila on the counter.

"My half-sister is sleeping with Alex." I mutter nonchalantly, thinking Cristina still doesn't know about the recent events that have transpired in my house. She snorts.

"Which new crackwhore hasn't slept with Alex anyway?"

"And I don't want to stop having sex with Derek."

Cristina huffs beside me and downs the drink she had in her hand. She looks at me and shakes her head slightly, turning her body to face me.

"Is there any other reason why you're drinking that I don't know about?"

I drop my head onto my hands, letting the effects of the alcohol seep into my now confused brain. The tequila is doing its job well, seeing as I feel slightly light-headed and Joe's bar has now gone a shade darker. I turn my head slightly in my hands, focusing my eyes on Cristina as she takes a sip of another drink that Joe had made for her.

"No," I mutter quietly to Cristina, sighing deeply before continuing. "No reason."

"Mmmph," Cristina grunted as she watched me rest my head on Joe's counter. I look up at her, sighing deeply before opening my mouth to speak.

"I love Derek. I love him too much that I can't stop seeing him. That it's more than just the sex," I groan, rolling my head slightly so my forehead now rests on the counter, "I can't not have Derek."

Tequila. It makes me say things, and do things, and forget things. Most of the time, they don't end well. Sometimes, they end well, then they come falling down and ruin everything. Either way, tequila, it's this thing that turns everything in my life around and around, spinning in circles.

ooo

Cristina's not sitting beside me anymore. Instead, I find a pair of blue eyes watching me intently as I lift my head up from Joe's counter looking messy and disheveled. Not drunk, just messed up. Or something like that.

I blink. Derek is sitting right across me, a glass of scotch in his hand with that McDreamy smile playing in the corner of his lips. He looked amused. And downright hot and sexy. I blink again and his smile just becomes wider.

"What," I pull my head up and turn my head around, looking for Cristina, "What happened? Where's Cristina?"

Derek smirks at me in that annoyingly cute way of his and he places the bottle of scotch down on the counter before facing me. He reaches over and strokes my cheek with the back of his fingers, his breath catching slightly on my skin as he leans forward towards me and I could literally feel the hairs in the back of my neck prickle in anticipation. It's those kinds of things that makes me wanna hate him, love him, things that make me wanna jump him in the middle of this room.

"Hey," Derek whispers softly as he runs his fingers across my cheek, "Did you have a good nap?"

I stare back at him, my mouth hanging open slightly. "I… what?"

"Nap, Meredith." He repeated, smiling slightly as he straightened in his seat. "You were taking a nap. Are you drunk?"

"Oh, uh, no." I answer in disbelief; somewhat reprimanding myself for letting Jose get to me this far. "I'm uh, just sleepy."

Derek snorted, shaking his head and downing what remained of his scotch. I, on the other hand have resorted to burying my head back in my hands.

"Cristina left a while ago," I hear Derek talking right beside me and I turn to look at him. He smiled. "She did tell Izzie and George to keep an eye on you, but…" George and Izzie were sitting on the table behind us, half buried in conversation and half sex crazed that they haven't been noticing the passing glances of the people around them. Okay, so maybe they weren't the best people to ask for any sort of favor to keep an eye on your slightly drunk friend.

"Hmmm," I respond, rolling my eyes at my friends as they sat behind us, "I noticed."

"It's a good thing I found you then." Derek tilted his head to the side, and I groan in frustration seeing as tequila—once again, have brought me to this situation. "Do you want me to bring you home?"

"Home?" I repeat in confusion, thinking otherwise of Derek's intentions. I look around and find Izzie and George groping their way out of the bar and I look back at Derek, shaking my head indicating that home isn't going to be in my list of go to places right now. He smirked.

"Or we could go somewhere else…"

I nod my head quietly and Derek smiles. He helps me up from my stool and helps me to my coat as we head towards the door and into his car. About a year or so before, the same thing happened and my life is just on rewind.

See, this is where tequila always ends up. Sometimes, I'm not sure if Jose is being nice to me or if he's making me miserable.


	3. Roommates

**A/N: This one took so freakin' long it was driving me insane. But I've put so much thought into this chapter I've caught myself staring into space imagining myself in Meredith's position as she talked to her friends, and I loved writing this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy this as well. I have the next one up, and I'm probably going to finish the whole thing in the next few days. :) Please read and review (more reviews would make me happy though!) Thanks much! :)**

**Three: Roommates**

The thing about living in my house is that you have to share it with two other people (who I would like to call my friends), and whoever they're sleeping with. You could also count in the people who sleep over (other than for sexual purposes) but that would only include Cristina. And probably George, because he's currently sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag. But he used to be my former roommate (and former other complicated things).

So, at any rate, it's not about roommates anymore. It's about my friends who started out with me as interns. Me, Cristina, Izzie, Alex and George—we all started out as interns. And we've all stayed in my house drinking and having sex and doing other stuff. I see this place as the house of misfits and people with a lot of issues. See, even the people who sleep over (a.k.a. people we have sex with) have a lot of issues, but that's beside the point.

The point is, these roommates are the closest thing I could ever get to a family. I wouldn't trade them otherwise for anything at all. And this morning, I wake up and find Izzie in the kitchen, cooking what looked like a week's worth of breakfast. Seriously.

I stop halfway through the kitchen and my jaw drops when I realize how much Izzie cooked this morning. Piles upon piles of pancakes sat on top of the counter, along with bacon, eggs, and muffins. A LOT of muffins. Izzie never really stopped making muffins even after she moved on with Denny. She looks up when she realizes I've been standing in the kitchen long enough to close my gaping mouth.

"Hey," Izzie greets happily, pulling a plate from the cupboard behind her, "Breakfast?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess." I reply, cautiously taking the seat in front of her. Izzie places the plates of breakfast foods in front of me, humming some song as she went back to tending the stove. I sighed. "Izzie, are you okay?"

Her eyes quickly flick over to me and widens before she answered. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?" She stammers slightly and I roll my eyes at her. You see, Izzie is not good with lying.

"You made muffins."

"So?"

"Then something is bothering you." I press on and Izzie sighs, finally succumbing to my insistence seeing as I have not touched the breakfast she so happily made for me. She then proceeds to sit on the chair opposite mine, her chin resting on her hand. I stare at her in anticipation, narrowing my eyes at her after minutes of waiting. "So…? What is it?"

"It's George," She says evenly, and I groan. Somehow, I think, I shouldn't have asked. "And I know, you really don't want to hear this or something, but, Mer, the sex? It's really bad."

I groan. Again. I really don't understand why I have to keep up with the on-goings of my sexually screwed friends. Oh, right, they're my family. So I'm dealing with it.

"And you know, don't get me wrong," Izzie continues with her rambling, stabbing the pancake in front of her repeatedly, "I love George. And I really do. But he pecks like a chicken and sex with him is absolutely horrible and I forget why he's perfect and then I forget why I love him then I remember why you cried when the two of you had sex before…"

I cringe as Izzie trailed off a monologue of what seemed to be the one of the worst things I have ever done in my life—sleeping with George. It's not that George isn't good with sex; it's just that, it's wrong. And yes, slightly horrifying as Izzie had said. But crying while having sex broke George and it took him a long time to finally forgive me, and talk to me, and I really don't want to remember that anymore.

"Izzie, stop."

"What?"

"Just… stop." I repeat, and Izzie looks at me like I said the most ridiculous thing ever. I shake my head and roll my eyes, before answering. "The thing with me and George, I really don't want to remember that. It's water under the thing, whatever." She huffs in her seat before coming to rest her chin in her hand. "And you know, the thing with George, you just have to get on with it. If it's bad sex, it's bad sex. I really don't need to hear about it."

Izzie rolls her eyes, looking somewhat frustrated and amused at my answer. "Thanks a lot for being a great friend, Mer." She says, sticking her tongue out at me before standing up to resume her place in the kitchen. I smirk, scoffing slightly before coming up with a retort.

"It gives me bad visuals."

"Last night, we had a box of fun."

I look up at her with wide eyes, momentarily forgetting that this was Izzie I'm talking to. "Box of what?" I repeat slowly, slightly afraid of the answer I'm going to hear.

"Box of fun…" She trails off, "and booze. And I'm sorry if I took one bottle out of your cabinet, I really needed it."

"A box of fun?" The inside of my head flinches in disbelief and slight disgust as it tries to process the images of Izzie and George in the living room with that box of fun (and the contents thereof). How… ugh, how Izzie. Or something. 

The thing with Izzie is that most of the time, she's happy. In a crazy sort of way. But really, she's just as screwed as everyone else who lives in this house, like me, like Alex or George or Cristina. She's the 'live life, be happy' kind of person even if the world was about to be crushed by a giant meteor. Even with the addicted-to-phone-psychics mother living in the trailer park, even with the modeling thing she had to do in order to get through med school, even with the screwy things she had as a teen, Izzie's always happy and smiling and stuff. Except that when things start to suck and life throws a curve ball at her and she doesn't catch it, she spirals into the land of extreme melodramas and blank stares into space.

That includes lying on the bathroom floor for hours, baking muffins enough to open a shop and making a box of fun for sex nights with a person you obviously don't have chemistry with.

Izzie goes back to the kitchen island to store the pile of breakfast foods she has cooked this morning and I look at her, releasing a heavy sigh. Most of the time, I can't deal with Izzie and the extreme happiness emanating from her, but honestly, I really couldn't think of any other way to have it. She's a great friend, even when she's screwed up and messed up and being the queen of fantasyland.

ooo

George is hiding in a supply closet. Not because he's screwing someone, but because he's hiding. In the closet. Alone. He's hiding in the closet alone trying to avoid Izzie, and I'm the one who found him because I wanted to hide in the closet as well. Because I'm trying to avoid having to deal with Lexie.

"What are you doing here?" George and I both say at the same time, the moment I open the closet door. My brow furrows in confusion as I think of a reason why he's inside and some sort of answer as to why I'm going in there as well. He shoots a curious look at me before he opens his mouth to reply, only to be drowned by the same answer from me.

"I'm hiding." I respond, and so does George. His mouth drops open in surprise and I shrug, nudging him to the side with my foot. He scoots over and I close the door behind me, crouching low to sit beside him. I sigh.

"Who are you hiding from?" George asked when I've finally settled myself on the small space. "I'm hiding from Izzie."

"Lexie," I mumble beside him, my shoulders drooping in exhaustion, "I'm avoiding Lexie."

George's eyebrows knit together in something that horribly resembled a unibrow and if it was any other situation, I would've laughed. But it wasn't, so I simply resort to sighing heavily before slumping to the wall behind me.

"Why are you hiding from your sister?" He asked after the long stretch of silence from me, "I thought you were fine with her. I mean, coz yesterday you told…"

"My dad was in the ER today," I say, cutting off George before he got to telling me about having a relationship with my sister, "He was drunk, he put his hand through the window and said a lot of things I never heard him tell me ever in my life."

"And you're hiding from Lexie because…?"

"I told her to keep an eye on Thatcher. And then she screamed at me for reminding her that she has to keep a better eye out for him."

George sat beside me with his lips opened slightly in surprise, before catching my eye and nodding quietly. We both sat in relative silence for minutes before he even attempted to restart any sort of conversation.

"Bailey's letting one of her patients take her for granted for saving his life." George mutters quietly as he sat beside me. I turn my head to look at him.

"What does this have to do with you hiding from Izzie?"

He shrugged, his shoulders slumping slightly as he pulled his knees up to his chest. "Why can't I just tell her things anymore? It was easy before, now; I can't even look at her. Or talk to her. Or, I don't know. She doesn't want to talk to me because now I talk to you." George cradled his head in one hand and turned to look at me. "I'm her best friend, and I can't even fix this. AND she's asking me to give her back the keys to the house."

I narrowed my eyes at him, one eyebrow rising in confusion. "But you have your own keys to the house." I tell him, and he shrugs again.

"I think she thinks she gave me one."

I sigh, and we relapse back to the moment of complete silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, it was just… we just ran out of things to talk about. George is sitting beside me and I could hear him breathing heavily, probably contemplating on what he should do. He's a nice guy, really, George is a nice guy. I know I've made bad decisions by sleeping with him before but I've said sorry and he's forgiven me so we're okay. And I know George and he really needs a friend right now.

Of all my friends, I would've thought that George had the closest to a normal life. As far as I'm concerned, he's the only normal guy—well, until we got to the point where he tells us that he doesn't get his family and they don't get him. But at least he's got a family, even if the only things that his brothers know about are cars and mail. Anyway, about George. George knows his stuff: he's smart, and funny, and sweet and he's a caring guy. Sometimes, however, George doesn't like to think about the things he's doing. Then he ends up making a huge mess out of it, and normally, the stuff he does are just so damn hard to fix.

Say, for instance, marrying your boss a few weeks after your dad dies. And then you cheat on your wife with your best friend weeks after. The sad thing is, he doesn't tell her about it until it's all too late to fix.

Shifting slightly, I turn my body to face George and he looks up at me like I hold the answer to his problems. I don't. Instead, I reach out for his hand and squeeze it, smiling slightly as I do so.

"You should go tell Bailey that she shouldn't let her patient take her for granted."

His head dips down once. Twice. And George looks up at me again. "Okay." He replies softly, his lips turning up into a smile as I squeeze his hand again. 

"And you should go tell Izzie about everything." I add, tilting my head to the side before making a move to stand up. "Cause she's your best friend and you should get to tell her everything."

I stand up and reach for the door when George pipes up again. "Even if she doesn't want to talk to me? Even if it's hard?" George looks glazed and unsure, and I nod my head, turning the knob open before answering.

"Even if she doesn't want to talk to you. But she's your _best friend_. It always gets easier when it's simpler that way."

ooo

Alex is brooding. Like, seriously brooding in the corner of the couch while watching television with a beer in his hand kind of brooding. It's really not normal for me to see Alex this way.

"Hey," I greet him when I enter the living room, and Alex looks up from the T.V. He lifts his beer-laden hand in greeting, before taking another sip. "You're home early."

He shrugs indifferently before leaning back on the couch. "I'm not home early," he says, his eyes now fixated on the game showing on the television, "You just got home late."

Okay, so I was home late. Derek drove me back here from the trailer and we've spent enough time groping and kissing each other in the dark of his car. I'm pretty sure Alex knows that but he doesn't need to hear it. Instead, I head over to the other seat in the living room and flopped myself down, pulling my feet up to rest on the coffee table. Alex doesn't budge.

"What's up?" I ask and he shrugs, his eyes still never leaving the T.V. screen. I've never really been able to hold any sort of sane conversation with Alex unless it has to do with sex, booze, or the rare occasion he decides to divulge his problems. I don't think today was any of those days either. "Anything interesting today?" I continue, and I'm surprised that Alex faced me before he answered.

"Nothing much," he replies, once again taking a sip of his beer, "Except for the fact that your sister is mad at me."

I try to suppress a laugh and Alex looks at me quizzically. "Oh, so it isn't just me then." 

"I don't suppose," Alex said, shrugging. "Did she yell at you?"

"Not exactly yell…" I trail off, trying to recount the better moments of my recent encounter with Lexie, "More like… raised her voice."

"So she's mad at you for telling her to take care of your dad?" He muttered knowingly, his eyes partially meeting mine. I rolled my eyes, shrugging my shoulders at him.

"How'd you…? Did she tell you about it?"

It was now Alex's turn to snort. I wasn't exactly expecting to have this discussion with Alex, on the account of having to talk about my last disastrous encounter with my half-sister. But here we are, in the living room, talking about Lexie Grey like she was a normal topic of conversation around here.

"No," Alex leans back on the couch and silence surrounds us before he answers, "It's always like that. They think it's such a personal thing that they don't need other people to help them. _It's a private family issue._ Or whatever crap they have to make up for keeping other people from knowing that someone in their family is a drunk."

"You seem to know a lot about crap like these." I state quietly and Alex continues to stare blankly at the television screen. He doesn't talk for a while, and I'm kinda afraid I offended him.

"My dad was a drunk," He says monotonously, as if it was no secret to the world, "Had to clean up after the bastard when I was seven."

Most people won't believe me if I told them that there's a human being inside Alex Karev. The truth is, he's a jackass, he lacks the proper niceties when it comes to bedside manners and he always tells the truth (especially to his patients), even if it's not what you want to hear. But it's mostly because he's had a rough childhood. He's good at keeping those pesky emotions at bay, locked up in the back of his brain, which makes him hardcore. And really, it's a good quality when you're a surgeon.

But then, there are only few people who've seen his human side. I think you need to be one of those few screwed up people before he actually shows you that he's capable of actual human emotion. 

Alex looks at me expectantly, and I blink back, staring at him blankly. He snorts, once again taking a sip from his bottle.

"Life sucks," I tell him, stealing the bottle of beer from the table. "Being a grown-up sucks."

And it has come to that. I'm sitting here in my living room with Alex, telling him that life sucks. Alex simply tilts his head to the side, leaning back on the couch lazily. Between me and the rest of the people inside this house, Alex is the one guy who would probably understand me, but he's too much of an ass to actually be someone to talk to. My point is, he's just as screwed up in everything as I am.

"Tell that to your sister then," Alex says, his eyes fixated on the ceiling. I roll my eyes at him, my head shaking in disapproval. "Maybe she'll listen to you when you tell her that growing up sucks."

"Why should I tell her?" I mumble indignantly at Alex, "You tell her. I don't even freakin' know how to grow up, Alex." 

Alex huffs and he looks at me while I glare right back at him. "Besides, I shouldn't even care." I finish, slamming the beer bottle on the table. The foam rises from the golden liquid inside, but it wasn't enough to overflow from the top. We continue staring at the bottle as if it was the most fascinating thing we've ever seen, before Alex spoke up again.

"But you do. So you tell her," Alex replies as he stood up, taking the bottle with him, "She's still your sister, even if you hate her." With that he left me and I manage to look up before he was gone.

"I don't hate her!" I call out and the only thing I hear is "Whatever" all the way from the other room. 

Sure, life sucks—it always has anyway.

ooo

Cristina's dancing like there's no tomorrow. Seriously. My best friend is dancing because she says it makes everyone braver. And I'm dancing because I want to believe that it will make me braver.

I drop myself down on the couch and Cristina follows me, pouring two shots of tequila before she flops beside me.

"You invited Lexie." I state matter-of-factly, as if she didn't know about it. She grunts. "You invited my half-sister."

Cristina tosses back the shot of tequila and I do the same, and we both lean back on the couch. I shift, turning my body to face her and Cristina grimaces, shooting one last look at Lexie before she answered me.

"I told you, she's got no one."

Lexie's dancing somewhat wildly in front of us, the upbeat music continually hammering our eardrums. George and Izzie were still dancing slowly, although they shouldn't be because Justin Timberlake is singing songs made for wild party dancing. I look back at Cristina, and she narrows her eyes at me.

"You're smiling," she accuses, pouring two more shots of tequila for the two of us, "Why are you smiling?"

"You invited Lexie." The phrase has long since been repeated over the past few minutes and I'm pretty sure that Cristina's getting annoyed. But I had to know, and I think I deserve the right to know why my half-sister is in my house dancing and drinking with us. Cristina rolls her eyes at me, her wild wavy hair shaking in all directions. 

"Because I told you," Cristina downs the shot without waiting for me, "She's got no one."

"Yeah, but that's never made you invite people over for a drinking party."

She sighs loudly, her hands flopping helplessly in her lap due to frustration. "Well," she glances at me sideways, "She was brave today."

Cristina was the first person I talked to the day I started in Seattle Grace. Sure, we didn't exactly start off in a good way, but my life probably wouldn't be the same if I didn't end up being her friend. She hated me the first day back, but come to think of it, I guess she just hates everyone she meets the first time—okay, maybe except for Burke.

You see, Cristina's not good with emotions. She doesn't do the hugging thing, or the "I-care-about-you" kind of thing, or whatever it is that friends are supposed to do with friends… well, most of the time she doesn't do those things anyway. I'm not sure if it's her screwy childhood to blame or because that's just the way she is. But even with the super hard-core, driven, apathetic Cristina, she's still a good friend—she's still my _best friend_.

When Derek broke my heart, Cristina was there. When Alex failed his board, she helped him. When Izzie was in trouble for cutting Denny's LVAD wire, she agreed to keep it a secret. When George's dad died, she comforted him (at least that was what George said.) When I had the near-death whatever, she was the first one I saw in that room. 

And when Lexie had no one, she invited her to dance with us. Cristina does have a heart after all. She does care—she just doesn't want to admit it.

She looks at me strangely and I simply shrug, now turning to look at the tequila on the table. "Okay," I tell her, before shooting the tequila down, "It's okay."

"You're not pissed?" She asks, her eyebrow rising in surprise, "You're not pissed I brought Three here?"

"No," I tell her and it was the truth, "Lexie has no one. She deserves to have someone."

"We don't have anyone." Cristina tells me bluntly and I roll my eyes at her, stretching out on the couch. "We all have no one."

"Of course I have someone." I reply defensively, propping my head on my hand, "I have you."

"Yeah, and just me."

"And Izzie, and George, and Alex."

Cristina snorts, somewhat ungracefully and stretches out on the coffee table as well. "Oh, right. I forgot that we had the smackheads as well." Her voice was characteristically sarcastic, but she turns to look at Izzie and George over the other side of the room and her face softens. She probably wouldn't admit it, but she knows she's got them anyway.

The song changes and we're still both on the couch. Lexie, Izzie and George suddenly stop dancing and they all turn to approach us.

"Hey," George says, "you stopped dancing."

"I don't think I was dancing that much," I tell him, lining up five shot glasses and filling them up, "I was more like jumping all over the place."

"Okay," Izzie sits on the floor in front of the table, reaching over to grab her shot glass, "Let's just drink then." She raises her shot glass for a toast. "To friends, family and surgery. Crappy friends, crappy family, crappy surgery." We all clink our glasses together and simultaneously gulp down the tequila, half-wincing as they burned our throats. The music changes once more and Lexie stands up, dancing to the beat.

"I like this song," Lexie says enthusiastically and pulls George to his feet. She reaches over to help Izzie up as well and the three of them launches into another fit of dancing. "Meredith, dance!"

I stand up and dance around again, pulling Cristina up with me. And while we are trashing around, Cristina leans close to me and whispers in my ear. 

"Okay, so maybe I'm glad I have you guys. At least I have someone."

I turn to look at her but she's already gone jumping over the other side of the room. You see, Cristina's not so bad at all.


	4. Family

**A/N: This one's pretty short, but let's imagine this is what happened after the whole egg allergy disaster thing. Haha. :) Thanks for those who reviewed, though I hope I get more! Please read and review! :)**

**Four: Family**

I don't do families. But that's probably because I've never had one. Well, I did have one if you count the five years I had before my father left, but after that, I really wasn't sure about what a family is. All I was left with was an overbearing mother who worked a lot and never saw me a lot. I have a father who left me when I was five to marry someone else. For a short time, I had a 'fake mom' (who, by the way is the woman my father married when he left us) but that one didn't end so well either—she died when we were supposed to operate on her. So, for the most part, families? I don't do families.

However, I am now living my life here in this hospital with my half-sister Lexie. She might just be the only other "blood"-relative I have in my life right now other than my father. But then I just discovered that he's an alcoholic.

I'm sitting here outside the hospital cafeteria, quietly eating alone when I notice a presence (okay, a person) present itself right next to me. I look up and I find Lexie standing there with her lunch tray looking at me as if I'm going to snap right at her. But I don't. I'm not sure if it was the dancing drinking thing we had last night that finally led me to believe that the idea of Lexie wasn't as bad as I thought it was or the fact that even if she was with the father I so wanted to be with… her life was just as screwed as mine.

"Hi Lexie," I greet as I look up at her. She gives me a small smile and she moves forward. "Late lunch?"

"Hi Meredith. Yeah, um, can I…?" She cocks her head to the direction of the empty seat beside me and I nod. She smiles. "Thanks."

"No problem." I reply and I go back to eating my salad while I flip over the chart I was busy reading. Lexie keeps shooting glances at me and I finally look up to meet her eyes. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," she responds and looks back down on her plate, "Well, a lot, but everything's kinda screwed and stuff."

I snort. Everyone in this hospital is screwed. Oh wait, why does it seem like anybody with my surname is screwed?

"Welcome to the club," I retort as I go back to eating my lunch. Lexie drops her fork and looks at me, biting her lip. I stare back at her. "What?"

"Um, I just want to thank you…"

"What for?"

"The um…" She pauses and shrugs her shoulders. "The drinking and the dancing thing the other day. I just um… you know, wanna thank you."

I nod my head and give her a small smile. "It was nothing," I say, shaking my head in amusement for what she wanted to thank me for, "I think you should be thanking Cristina about this. She did invite you."

"Well, I did." Lexie replied, biting on her plastic fork.

"And…?"

"Well, she did say 'Shut it, Three or you won't get any drinking parties for the rest of your life.' and then she threatened me that if I ever breathe a word that she went soft on me to the other interns, she'll make sure that I don't see the OR for the next two months and she'll stick a ten blade out of my neck." Lexie said casually before taking a bite out of her salad.

I laughed. Typical Cristina. Meanwhile, I have taken to staring at my sister, who, for some weird reason has red splotches in different places on her arm. I grab her left hand, pushing the long-sleeved shirt up to her elbow and stared at it.

"What happened?" I ask, lightly touching the rash that covered parts of her arm. Lexie's eyes widened, her cheeks immediately flushing when I look up at her. "Are you allergic to something?"

With her mouth half-full, she shakes her head vigorously but her eyes tell me otherwise. I narrow my eyes at her and she gulps audibly, her eyes darting to different directions. "What aren't you telling me Lexie? I know I shouldn't care but…" I ask cautiously, finally releasing my hold on her arm. Lexie looks at me reproachfully and she bit her lip, her eyes not even daring to meet mine.

"Eggs," She mumbles under her breath before finally deciding to look at me in the eye. "I'm allergic to eggs."

For a moment there I was stunned speechless. I think if I was looking at me from another person's point of view, I'd look like a gawking turkey as my eyes widened in frustration at my half-sister.

"Eggs?" I repeat in disbelief, shaking my head as Lexie cringed in her chair still looking at me. "You're allergic to eggs and you didn't tell me this morning?"

"Well, no," She mutters and I glare at her. Lexie immediately starts speaking again. "I have boundary issues, and when you made eggs this morning, I thought I should just eat them and not turn it down because we've been making progress. I mean, you know, you're talking to me and stuff and I figured that if I refused the breakfast that you cooked you'd be angry or pissed or something so you know, I just…"

Lexie was rambling. She was rambling the way that I do, probably minus the darting eyes all over. I was trying hard not to laugh at her face, vaguely suppressing the gurgling sound in my throat.

"Um, Meredith?"

I focus my eyes back at Lexie, her once frightened look now replaced with confusion.

"I don't know how to cook Lexie." I state, a chuckle half dying in my throat. "You could've turned it down and I wouldn't have screamed at you."

"Oh… Yeah, but…"

"Have you been administered with a shot of Epinephrine?"

She nodded carefully, finally releasing the breath she has been holding. "George gave me one earlier. I guess it just hasn't set in that much yet." She stopped, stared at me again before letting her head drop, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

I sigh, finally letting my hands drop to my lap. "It's okay Lexie. I'm sorry I nearly killed you," I say cautiously, tilting my head to look at her, "You do know I wasn't meaning to do that right?"

"Of course!" Lexie said, laughing. She narrows her eyes slightly at me, pausing before she spoke again. "You're not the killing type of long-lost half-sister, are you?"

I wrinkle my nose slightly, pursing my lips before answering her. "No," I reply bluntly, forcing myself to look back at her. "No, I'm not the murderous type of long-lost half-sister." Lexie looked panicked, probably due to the fact that I'm kidding her around and we still don't know each other that well. I laugh. "I'm kidding, Lex."

"OH!" She mutters, flushing slightly at her crazed idea that it was my lifelong dream to kill her. "For a moment there I thought I offended you… or something."

I shake my head again, partly amused at the incredibly insane things Lexie has been thinking.

"We really need to hang out more." I announce, my fingers drumming lightly on the table. Lexie looks at me in surprise, and I'm sort of surprised at myself too for having invited Lexie to hang out with me. A few weeks ago, I was apprehensive of her, even going as far as hating the idea of her. But now… not so much. "You know, have a couple of drinks at Joe's. Sleep over the house if you're drunk…" I trailed off, barely watching Lexie's sudden change of emotion.

"Thanks Mer—" Her appreciation was cut short with the shrill beeping of a pager. We both grab the communication device from the belt loop of our scrub pants, only to discover that it was mine. Our eyes meet briefly for a moment and Lexie stares back at me, her mouth open in question.

"It's Dr. Bailey." I blurt out, standing immediately from my seat and clipping the pager back in place. "It's an emergency, I have to go."

Lexie nods back in understanding, as I turn on my heel, running towards the direction of the trauma rooms. Somewhere along the convoluted path that is my life, I finally realize that maybe… just maybe, I can do families.


	5. Dr Derek Shepherd

**A/N: Sorry, very late update. Still piled high with school work. Anyway, excited for Grey's new episode in two weeks, and I can't wait. New chapter, LONGEST chapter EVER for this story and kinda doesn't sound like the characters, but that's because this is how things probably happened inside my head. A lot of screaming, and more screaming but it's fun. Hee. Hope you people enjoy. Thanks to those who reviewed, and please do the same for this one. :)**

**Five: Dr. Derek Shepherd**

There is this guy. He does one of two things: he can melt me right on the spot with a smile (and I don't do that 'melting' thing, to be honest) OR he can make me so angry that I want to strangle him. But of course, I don't do that.

At this moment, it's either I love him or I hate him. But I'm Meredith, and I'm usually stupid with all these relationship kind of things and I end up picking the former. This is probably the reason why I'm sitting here alone in Joe's counter drowning my sorrows with my best friend Jose.

"Alright, that's enough Meredith. I'm going to call someone to bring you home."

"Noooooo," I whine at Joe, flipping over another shot glass and lining it up with the ones I've finished, "Nooooo, you aren't gon call no one."

"But you've already had a lot sweetie. It's time to get you home."

I shake my head and down my nth shot of tequila for the night (and probably the last one Joe will serve me), feeling the liquid burn the inside of my throat. I really don't feel good considering that I had a bottle of beer and a few vodka thingies before the tequila downing and I feel like Joe's bar has suddenly become too dark. Or bright. I'm not sure, it really depends on where I look.

"It's not a lot." I tell Joe, lifting my head slightly to look at him straight in the eye. Or, at least as straight as I can as of the moment. "I'm not drunk Joe, I promise."

He smirked. "Yeah, well that's what they all say. Alright, that's enough pining for Dr. Shepherd." He starts pulling the upturned shot glasses away from me and I count them. Two. Four. Six. Eight. And a small glass with a stirrer in it. Okay, so maybe I've had a lot. However, it doesn't take away the fact that I'm not yet done with the sorrow-drowning drinking I had planned concerning Derek Shepherd.

The bell by the door rings and I see Joe's expression immediately change. He looks at me and back up to whoever just entered, shaking his head.

"You really don't need anything else to upset you right now." Joe says quietly, setting down a glass of water in place of the shot glasses that used to be there.

"Thanks Joe." I mutter quietly and I lean back from my position, fully expecting a strong, sturdy backrest for my now heavy head. But I feel nothing. Instead, I end up leaning on air as a fall off the stool and hear a sickeningly loud thud on the floor. The world blacks out for a minute (or two) and I hear people around me sound panicked. Or amused. I'm drunk and I'm probably guessing stuff way off the hook.

"Oh my God, Meredith! Are you okay?" I look up and I find Joe's face hovering above me with a slightly terrified look on his face.

"Ow," I groan as I try to lift my head off the floor. Apparently, the loud thud I heard was my head hitting the floor from a few feet off the ground. "Ow. What happened?"

"You fell off the stool. Good thing Tyler accidentally dropped his coat on the floor, it lessened the blow."

"Ohhh." My head was throbbing in pain and I'm still slightly inebriated because I could see two Joes at the same time. Not to mention that everything seems to be spinning around and around. "I feel dizzy."

"Meredith! Joe, is she okay?" I'm still lying on the floor with my eyes closed and I'm still drunk, but I'm sure (and I've never been wrong) that the voice that I just heard was Derek. I could hear Joe telling him about what happened and then suddenly I could feel a pair of strong hands cradle my head tenderly with a cold ice pack and I finally force my eyes to open. "A few contusions but she looks okay."

"Get away from me Derek." I mumble, pulling away from him with the energy I have left. He wouldn't budge. "I said, get away!"

"No, Meredith. You just hit your head on the floor. You're not okay." Derek says forcefully but his hand is still resting gently on the back of my head, the other one holding me down on the ground. I have no idea how he can sound so angry and feel so gentle at the same time. "Stay still!"

"NO!" I exclaim loudly enough for the whole bar to stop and stare at me. I push myself up from my position and pull myself away from Derek's grasp, standing up and staggering, nearly knocking myself again on the counter. Joe thankfully helps me to my feet and I grunt a small thank you before looking dazedly at Derek and back at Joe. "I'm leaving."

"Oh no, you're not." I stare at Joe like he's crazy but he shakes his head and pulls out his cellphone. "I'm calling you a cab."

"I'm going to the hospital," I tell him. It was late and I started the day out with George and I think he's about done and maybe he'll drive me home. "I'm going to ask someone to drive."

"Have some coffee first. Or something."

"I'm okay Joe, thanks."

I turn away from him and stagger drunkenly towards the door and I stop. I'm drunk and dizzy and I want to go home—but there are two doors in front of me and I take my chances and step towards the one on the right. It was evidently a bad idea because the next thing I know, I could feel my forehead throbbing in pain.

"OW," I groan again and fall back slightly, my right hand immediately rushing to my now throbbing forehead. I just hit the door because I was stupid enough (and smashed enough) to forget to open it. "OW. Okay, that hurt."

A pair of heavy hands grabs me by my upper arms and pulls me to the chair nearest to the door and I find Mark Sloan trying to make me sit. "Alright, that's enough Grey, you're going to have to sit down and take a seat because one more hit on the head and the next thing you'll see is the inside of the MRI machine." Mark tells me as I sit on the chair he has pulled out. I see Derek approaching the table with the ice pack in his hand and Mark starts talking to him. "She's alright Shep, don't worry about it."

"Did she hit the door hard?"

"Nah, don't think so. Oh wait, maybe a little bit. Maybe you should check it out; the first hit was bad enough."

Derek approaches me and he pushes the hair out of my eyes, his fingers tenderly touching my now painfully throbbing forehead. He places the ice pack on it and sits on the chair opposite mine and I pull away from him, moving my head away as far as possible and cradle my head in my hands.

"God Derek," I groan, still holding my head, "Will you, just for once, will you please just stop trying to save me? Because every time you try to save me, you end up hurting me and I just want you to stop."

"What?" Derek says, pulling his chair closer to me and I pull back again. "What the hell is your problem, Meredith?"

It's really not the best time for someone to just ask me out of the blue what my problem is. Not to mention, that it was never a good idea for _your problem_ to ask you what your problem is. It's stupid, crazy and quite absurd, if I may say so. The aggravation towards Derek is building and I stare straight at him like I want to slam onto him like a madman with an axe.

"What's my problem? You're asking me what's my problem?" I shriek and my head hurts and everyone is looking at me but I don't care. Somehow, the small part of my sober brain tells me to shut it, but the drunken part takes over and I start shrieking at Derek about all our problems and all the things that have made me spend my nights here at Joe's. "You wanna know what the hell my problem is? YOU ARE! You are my fucking problem Derek!"

Derek looks shocked and upset, and his body turns rigid as he faces me and I manage to stand up in front of him, jabbing my finger to his chest. "YOU. I hate you. Because right from the start, I didn't want to do anything with you, but you say things and you do things and I fell in love with you." I say loudly, my face dangerously close to his and I could feel my blood boiling on the inside. "And I hate it that I love you. I wanted to know you Derek because you were the one person who understood me and you asked me to take everything on faith," I jab my finger on his chest again, "and you know what's stupid? I do. I take everything on faith and you know what you gave me? A secret wife!"

I look at Mark and he's staring at me with a surprised look on his face, his mouth open like a gaping goldfish. Derek was still staring at me with those expressive eyes of his which makes me hate him a little bit more, because every time I see him like that, I always end up crying. Which might have been the reason why the tears started to flow and the yelling started again.

"I was in love with you Derek, I was too madly in love with you that I actually ask you to pick me, and choose me and love me," I say through gritted teeth, my eyes still furiously directed at him, "but you don't. Because you chose to hurt me by choosing Addison. Damn it Derek, when I met you I thought you were the one I was going to spend my life and I was done. Then I tried to fix myself and you know what you do? You call me a whore."

"Meredith, I—" I really didn't see Derek stand up but he's standing in front of my sobbing self and I look up at him. I start to explode and I try to hit him in the chest with my tiny ineffectual fists and he grabs my wrists, effectively stopping the beating. "Meredith…"

"NO!" I scream again and everything becomes blurry because I finally notice that I'm crying. "NO! You do not get to say 'Meredith' because I'm not done!" He holds my wrists in place and I glare at him, pulling away from his grasp immediately.

"I hate you," I repeat, starting over the incredibly huge speech that was inside my head, and I'm staring at him with all the anger building up inside, "I hate you because I wanted you to be the one. I leave the guy who could've been the perfect one for me because I still believed that you're the one I'm spending my life with. For a moment there we were happy. But I drowned. And you're the guy who blames me for drowning. You're the guy who blames me for dying. And you're the guy who pulls away, expecting me to understand why you're acting so weird and twitchy all of the sudden and then you're the guy who gets to tell me that I'm the love of your life and asks me to break up with you at the same time."

I step forward and face him again, my fists balled up in anger and I want to hit him. Hard. I want to hurt him for all the things that he's done to me but I don't.

"But you don't understand. Because you don't want to deal with the dark and twisty and damaged Meredith, and I can't do anything about it. Not yet. You tell me that I'm constantly leaving you behind but I'm not—YOU are. God, Derek, have you ever actually thought about the reason why I'm here? Why I'm actually standing here in front of you, breathing and screaming and hating you? I'm guessing no. Because right from the start, it's always going to be you. It's you who's always getting left behind, it's you who breathes for me, and it's YOU who wants to be put out of misery by me. You don't even bother to think that I fought death for you, Derek. You don't even bother to think that I'm constantly trying to be something that I can't be and breathing and loving you all at the same time."

It's hard talking to Derek like this because I've never done this before. Not once in my life have I screamed and shrieked and exploded at a guy in the middle of a bar with about a hundred people watching us. But I don't care and I don't notice the people at the bar. Because Derek was crying, he was ACTUALLY crying and I stop slightly, pausing long enough to step back and stare at his blue eyes as he cried. And I continue, my voice softer this time because I can't do the screaming anymore and it hurts me to be yelling at the one man I have fallen in love with and seeing him cry.

"And I know you want things Derek. You want a lot of things—big things. You want the marriage and the kids and the house. You want a lifetime and I want them too," I breathe heavily, the tears still coursing down my face. Damn tear ducts always having to work at the moments I don't want them to. "And I try Derek. I'm trying hard to give you these things and all I ask from you is time."

Derek starts to open his mouth to respond but I cut him off. "I try Derek, I'm trying so fucking hard that I'm asking Cristina to plow through psych books and I'm washing down my mother's ashes in a scrub room and what do you do? You decide to date other people while I keep on trying to be that person that you want me to be. I'm trying to grow up Derek, because I don't know how to grow up. You date people who could give you the things you want without having to wait for them to grow up. You kiss other women and you don't tell me. You show me house plans to scare me into taking a step with you. You break up with me because you're telling me that I don't trust you."

I stare at him angrily, finally hitting him hard on the chest. "You know why I can't trust you? You wanna know why I'm always finding reasons not to? Because you keep walking away, you always leave me hanging, telling me lies and keeping things from me. You're not giving me any reason to trust you, but you always—ALWAYS give me reasons not to."

I wasn't really sure at how long the shrieking and the jabbing really was because time and space just seemed to stop right there when I started. And I was drunk when all this started, seeing as I just hit my head on the floor and the door in less than five minutes and when I started the screaming, the whole world seemed to have just shut up instantly. Everything was quiet and I feel like I'm standing in the room with nobody else but Derek who is now looking shocked and upset in front of me. But now, it felt like somebody has just pressed the on switch and everything started to play out again because I could hear people whispering around us and eyes looking intently at us.

"Damn Grey," Mark suddenly starts, his eyes fixated on me, "I like it when you're drunk."

"Shut up Mark."

Derek's voice was strangely tight, and I know he's angry. And probably wants to hurl things at me for screaming at him and I stand in front of him and he's staring at me with those blue eyes of his that had suddenly gone a shade darker. I close my eyes and let out a deep heavy breath, and when I open my eyes, I see Derek stepping forward and I step back away from him.

"No," I whisper, "Don't."

"Meredith…"

"Don't," I say again, a little bit louder this time. "Stop saving me."

"I'm not…"

"You are."

I find Derek standing directly in front of me and the tears are still pouring. He just stands there, looking at me and I stare back, and the next thing I know (and I'm probably stupid to do so) is that I kiss him. Softly. Briefly. Probably even less than five seconds. It wasn't a kiss that was about to initiate a night of hot drunken sex—no, it was a kiss to tell him that I've said my mind and that kiss _might_ be the last. The thing is, it never felt like that.

"You broke up with me Derek. It's over. You said it yourself."

"But I—"

I shake my head slightly, furiously fighting the tears ready to pour out of my eyes. "You don't want to wait for me. I get it. But Derek, I've been waiting for you a long time ago and you weren't ready. I waited for you to love me for what I could give you. And I know they're not enough and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't be the one who can give you the house and the kids and perfect marriage. I'm sorry you had to waste your time waiting for me."

I wipe away the tears that had fallen on his face and Derek closes his eyes the moment I touch him. And I turn away and walk towards the door, and this time I manage to find myself outside. It's raining and I start to realize how much I had said. I'm going to work tomorrow and I'm not sure how things will end up. We're broken up and I yelled at him. Tomorrow isn't going to be a good day.

See, the thing about me drinking at Joe's usually concerns Derek. It's the place I met him, and the place that I hated him, and it's the place which will always make me remember how one person actually turned my life around.

ooo

On most days, the gossip driven mouths of the nurses of Seattle Grace Hospital doesn't bother me. But today was the day after the drunken screaming at Joe's and it wasn't until I got in bed last night, staring up at the ceiling did I realize that the nurses will probably be talking. And as I'm standing here in the middle of the surgical floor, I could feel everyone staring at me. And I mean EVERYONE, literally.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Lexie crane her neck as if she was looking for someone and I'm surprised to see her head my way with the tallest cup of coffee I have ever seen in her hand. She stops in front of me and my incredibly huge pile of charts, placing the coffee cup in front of me.

I stare at the white cup in front of me and back up at Lexie. "Lex, what is that?"

"Coffee." Lexie said, shrugging her shoulders. I stare at her in confusion. "For you?"

"What for?"

"Oh, um…" Lexie looked around the room, her eyes briefly meeting George's who was standing in the far end of the room with his fellow interns. She shifted her weight between her feet and looked up, meeting my eyes. "Just… just because."

I smiled back weakly at her. "Thanks. But you really didn't have to."

"But I do, so here," She says as she shakes her head, slightly pushing the cup towards me. "I gotta go." Lexie gives me one last small smile before she scoots off to the mercy of Cristina. I, on the other hand, picked up the cup and took a sip. Mocha latte. Smart girl, she knows what I like. Or maybe George told her what I like. Whatever. I turned to my interns, waving my hand at them to approach me. George reaches me first, his eyes quiet and somber as he looked at me.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I ask him the moment he stopped in front of me. He shrugs, his gaze immediately dropping to the floor. Instead, I roll my eyes at him and hand him a chart. The interns have congregated in front of me, all of them waiting for their assignments.

"Whatever." I mumble quietly, and shooting one last look at George, I click my tongue at him before facing my slaves. "Thomas, you're with Sloan; Lee, pit; Andrews, Hahn; George, come with me. You're with Tuck today. Then go find the Chief afterwards and do his pre-op." I hand them their assigned charts, and I call out before they were all gone. "Don't make me regret setting you loose around the hospital!"

They all scoot off to their assigned tasks with the exception of George. He's just standing in front of me, and I stare right back at him in confusion.

"What?" I ask and he opens his mouth in some sort of reply but he stops himself. "What?" I repeat, and he finally shakes his head.

"Are you okay?" George's voice was soft, and I look at him blankly.

"Of course," I mutter quietly as I gathered the remaining charts on the station, "Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"Oh," He says and he follows me towards the halls leading to the pediatric ICU. The elevator was thankfully empty and we both step inside, George falling a step beside me as he pressed the button. "I was just… you know, just wondering. Cause last night you weren't okay and…"

The truth is I'm not okay. But last night, as I lay down alone on my bed, I realized that I needed to grow up. Not for Derek, not for finding the one person I want to spend the rest of my life with, but for me. I need to grow up for me. So I decided that today, I'm going to be fine. Not just Meredith fine, but actually fine. If I can manage it.

"I'm… fine," I tell him, and the elevator stops at our floor, "I'm doing well, I think."

"I was just making sure."

Ten minutes later, I left George in the ICU as he fed Tuck, while I found myself walking the halls alone with my cup of coffee and the feeling that I'm going to meet someone that I really didn't want to see right now. Looking across the hall towards the bridge, I find Derek slumped on the ground looking defeated with Mark towering over him. I stop, and my brain tells me to run the opposite direction but Mark spots me and I stand rooted to the spot.

"Oh, hello Grey," Mark greets sarcastically, his eyes immediately locking with mine, "Nice to see you're doing better than this idiot sitting on the floor."

"I… Dr. Sloan." I reply, my eyes immediately sweeping towards Derek. Mark faced me; his arms crossed over his chest his eyes unusually blank and seemingly frustrated. I try to come up with a response to save myself from the immediate humiliation that was to be left alone with Derek after I bit his head off—unfortunately, nothing comes to mind, except for one lame excuse. "I have to go…"

"You're not needed elsewhere, Grey," Mark grunted, striding across the floor, bypassing me, "I'll leave you two to talk."

Mark's footsteps faded away and I found myself standing in the same spot, looking at Derek who was still slumped on the floor. So much for plans of avoiding him today. Taking a deep breath, I walked to where he was seated and stopped short in front of him.

"You look like crap." I tell him, and Derek looks up at me briefly with those sad blue eyes of his before letting his gaze drop back on the floor.

"I feel like crap." He replies solemnly, his eyes still fixated on the tiled floor in front of him. I sigh heavily, my coffee cup laden hand immediately rising to meet my lips for a sip before it stops midair in front of his face. He looks back up at me and the coffee cup, his lips slightly parted in surprise.

"You look like crap," I repeat, slightly shaking the now half-empty cup. Derek's still staring at me in confusion, and I simply stare back at him, my hand still steadily holding the cup in front of him. "Are you going to take it or am I just gonna hold this in place for you while you sit there?"

Derek takes the warm cup from my hands and cradles it in his own. "I… uh… thanks." He mumbles before taking a sip and letting it rest in his hands. I tower over him, much like what Mark was doing earlier, only, I'm a whole lot smaller and it really made no difference. Derek's still staring at the floor and my hands drop in defeat. _What am I doing here, anyway?_

Looking down on the man in front of me, I find myself watching Derek's every move. His hand occasionally ran up and down the coffee cup, his index finger unconsciously tracing the embossed letters on the top of the cup. And then I finally see how he looks like today. For the first time since I met him, I see Derek's normally perfect hair sticking out in all directions, like he's been running his fingers through it in frustration. He's still wearing his clothes from the day before and he looks like he walked in the rain, the ends of his pants darker than the rest of his clothing. Derek looks up at me, and I silently gasp. His normally piercing blue gaze was now strangely distant and dim, with bloodshot eyes and a runny nose to match.

Yeah, he sure looks like crap today.

We stay like this for a while—Derek sulking on the floor while I try to at least _menacingly_ tower over him. Crossing my arms over my chest, I look down at him, and somewhere between the minutes that ticked by, silence consumed us. That creepy, almost deafening silence that always lingered around you when you don't know what to say. And right now, we certainly don't know what to say.

Derek finally looks up at me, and he looks slightly better. Like a little light had turned on inside him. Seeing that he's better, I turn on my heel, fully expecting to get away from him as far as possible. I've barely taken more than three steps away when he called out to me.

"Meredith," He whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking as I turned my back on him, "Don't go. Please."

Do you know how it is when you want to run, but your legs just won't obey you? Like they have a mind of their own and all you can do is stand there, staring at the escape route that is ahead of you. Yeah, that's how I feel right now.

"Meredith…"

Somewhere deep inside my head, there's a little voice telling me to shut everything out and run. Leave him there sulking on the floor. Forget about him.

But there's also this other voice, the one that I'm more prone to listen to telling me to stop, turn around and face Derek. I should run away—I know, but I don't. So I'm standing here, three steps away from him staring blankly at the hallway in front of me.

"Meredith," Derek repeats, softer this time, like he's struggling to form the words. I turn slightly, looking down on him from my vantage point. "Stay," he murmurs quietly, setting down the coffee cup beside him as he turns to look at me, "Please?"

Ignoring the voice inside my head, I walk past him, opting to sit a good foot and a half away from him. We both sit in relative silence for minute (and it seemed longer), not until I decide to speak first.

"This isn't going to get us anywhere," I tell him, my shoulders sagging in exhaustion. Derek sighed.

"I… Yeah… I…" He stuttered, taking another sip of coffee, "I know."

"What are we doing Derek?" I ask him, cradling my head in my hands.

Derek paused. "I don't know."

I blink, staring at the tiled floor as I contemplated on his words. I knew we were bound to go somewhere, either better or worse, or probably something in between, especially after that screaming thing last night, but…

Right now, I'm surprised that Derek doesn't know what we're doing. Because Derek Shepherd is a world-renowned neurosurgeon, and he's always going to be that arrogant, cocky jackass (and as much as I hate to say it), the only guy I've fallen in love with. Well, at least up until the point I screamed and all hell broke loose on him.

Who the hell am I kidding; I'm still in love with the stupid guy.

Lifting my head up from my hands, I look squarely at Derek as he sat there slouched on the glass wall of the bridge drinking what remained of the bitter liquid in his hands. He looked like a mess.

"Are you drunk?"

Derek half-shrugs, half-slumping helplessly on the wall behind him. He pinches the bridge of his nose before he brings himself to look at me.

"No," I stare at him and he relents, "Maybe. A little bit. Not as much as I was six hours ago."

"What happened to your date?"

He closes his eyes, now leaning fully on the wall. "I don't know. I can't remember," Derek retorts, shrugging his shoulders and sighing heavily, "Probably left her there or something. I don't know. I don't care."

"You can't just leave your dates out in the bar."

"But I just did."

Derek is not perfect. Sure he's dreamy and everything, but he's not perfect. He's flawed, he's screwed up, and he's just as messed up as everyone else. Case in point: he's sitting on the floor in his clothes the day before and he's drunk. And he left his skanky date in the bar last night.

I know I should be happy or proud or something—anything should work seeing as the moment presents itself to boost my ego. But I'm not. Instead, I just sit there, staring blankly at him as if it didn't mean anything.

Yeah, it didn't mean anything. Because I don't care about the skanky nurse date named Rose, because frankly, I'm better than her.

We sit quietly on the floor, and Derek suddenly turns to face me, his sad, brooding eyes looking straight at me. My breathing hitches a bit, and I groan, because even in the middle of this mess that we're in, I'm still hopelessly in love with him.

"You probably hate me right now." Derek states, his head hung low. I smirk and roll my eyes, not even bothering to look at him as he said those words. "You _should_ probably hate me right now."

"Why?" I ask bluntly, "Do you want me to?"

"Would it make me feel better knowing that you hate me with all your guts?" Derek stops, slightly facing me before pulling up his legs to have somewhere to rest his heavy arms. He groans, shaking his head as he leans back on the wall again. "God, this isn't going as well as I hoped."

I know Derek, a lot. And I don't just mean that in the physical way seeing as I've had sex with him countless times. I know Derek about a lot of other things too—like the fact that he never stammers even if we're in the middle of a fight, or that he rarely gets nervous when he wants to talk about something. He's too damn perfect to do the twitching, stammering, nervous things insecure people like me do.

But tonight, Derek Shepherd looked like he doesn't know what to do.

"Tell me if I should walk away Derek," I tell him, as calmly as I can before facing him, "Tell me if I should walk away so that you'll be happy and I can move on with my life. Tell me if I should walk away so I don't feel the hurt of being left behind again, Derek. Tell me."

Derek ran his hand over his tired face, exhaling a breath that he's been holding for a while. "I don't want you to walk away."

"Then what are we doing now Derek? Are we just going to sit here and wait until we rot, or are you actually planning on saying something?" I snap at him. He slumps down on the floor lower, his legs being the only support for his body. "We're not okay, Meredith. We're definitely not okay."

"I know." I reply softly, looking down back on the floor.

"Then… what," He stopped. He was seething, and Derek pulled himself up to stand in front of me, "Damn it!"

Derek's voice echoed around the empty hall, and the people below all turned to look up at us. I had managed to stand up as well to face him, my arms crossed over my chest as an act of defense. Derek ran his hand through his hair, pacing the small space in front of me.

"What do you want Derek?" I ask, finally giving in to the silence between us. He looked at me.

"I'm sorry." Derek whispered, his words sinking on to me, "I'm sorry I had to do those things. I'm sorry I broke your heart… again. I just…"

"What?"

"I just didn't want to be alone Meredith."

If this was another guy, I would've laughed at him. You know, like seriously laughing my head off kind of thing. But I didn't. Because this was Derek talking and what he said, was what I felt. I looked down on the floor, quite unable to look at him.

"I know," I tell him quietly, my eyes locking with him before I continued, "But I'm used to it."

Derek closed his eyes, once again running his hand over his weary face. "I hurt you, Meredith." He says, and I look at him in confusion.

"Yes."

"And I'm sorry."

Derek slumps, his tone weak. His normally strong stance deflates in front of me, and his eyes mirror his emotions. He's hurt, he's broken, and I know that deep down, he didn't mean to do these things to me. But he did, and it hurt—a lot, to a point that I felt like I could never pick myself up again.

There are days when you feel helpless. It's what I feel right now, because deep inside, I shouldn't be forgiving Derek. But I find myself that I am… even for a little bit.

"I can't trust you."

"I know."

"You didn't want to breathe for me," I finally say, stepping to his side to lean over the bridge. The surgical floor was surprisingly empty for this time of the day, with the only exception of a few nurses and interns hurrying up to check on their patients. Derek's leaning with his back on the bridge, his elbows supporting his wobbly frame. "And you _didn't_ show up."

Derek simply stares at the empty hall in front of him, blinking idly as I stared at him.

"I can't live without you," Derek mutters, his blue eyes finally finding mine, "I… just can't."

"Well," I scoffed, rolling my eyes at him, "You've got a great way of showing it to me then, huh?"

"You died," He finally says, his eyes back to staring blankly at the hall in front of him, "You… you died."

I rarely get angry. I mean seriously, I rarely get angry. I'm an only child, and as an only child, I've never really had the chance to be angry at a lot of people—well, maybe except for my mother. But right now, I am, and I think it's quite evident with the blazing look as I turn to Derek.

"I didn't," I hiss back at him, my eyes blazing with anger. Derek shakes his head. "I didn't."

"You did Meredith. You died." He repeats, and I shake my head, fending off the tears starting to fall. "You died, and I didn't…"

"I DIDN'T DIE!" I screamed, my voice echoing through the halls. People from downstairs all looked up at us, but I didn't care, though I really didn't want to start another fit in front of the hospital. But Derek is making me angry, and yelling, as I've learned is the best way to deal with this. "I DIDN'T DIE DEREK."

Derek stiffens, and his eyes narrowed menacingly. "YES, YOU DID," he says, his voice rising in anger, "YOU DIED. YOU WERE BLUE AND COLD, YOU DROWNED, AND YOU DIED."

"Oh, so this is what all this mess is about?" I hiss, my face dangerously close to his, "All of this because I died?"

"YES!" Derek explodes, his hands finding purchase on both my arms. He shakes me gently, as if shaking me will make everything better, "YOU DIED! YOU LEFT ME, MEREDITH, AND I SPENT THE SCARIEST DAY OF MY LIFE WAITING FOR YOU!"

He was screaming. The people below us were listening and really, the screaming should stop. But he didn't and Derek continued.

"And I love you. I love you so damn much that I can't live without you. You haunt me when I wake up, when I walk this hospital, you fucking haunt me in my dreams and I'm always scared that at some point, you'll leave me again, that once again, you'll die and I could never have you back."

"But, I'm here…" I stuttered, and Derek's still shaking his head.

"Things are always going to be hard Meredith, and I can't have you not breathing…"

"I never asked you to breathe for me, Derek."

"But I want to," he says desperately, "I want to breathe for you, I want to breathe _with you_,and I can't do that if you always leave me behind."

Derek doesn't understand where I'm coming from. I don't think he's even sure of what he wants from me.

"I just want to be with you Meredith," Derek says despairingly, "I just want to be with you because I can't live without you. I'm too tired to not be with you because I love you. _I love you_, Meredith."

"How can you say that?" I spat back, my eyes blazing in anger. Derek looks on.

"You're the love of my life."

"Oh," I reply sarcastically, "I'm the love of your life? Really?" I stepped in front of him, moving my face closer to his, "I'm the _love of your life_? Seriously? Do you want me to believe that? Cause really Derek, I'm finding it hard to do that.

"I…"

"You say I'm the love of your life. Three days ago, you were kissing the nurse in the scrub room. Am I really, or you just tell that to every other girl you date because you're fucking Dr. McDreamy?" I reply bitterly, my eyes betraying the anger that boiled inside me. Derek seemed to sink lower. "The love of your life isn't going to be every other girl you meet Derek, because for the record, the love of your life should be the only one that holds your heart."

"But you are… And I love you."

"Figure out what you want from me Derek," I tell him, before I stepped back, "Because I love you too, but I don't know what you want and I've been giving everything I can to be with you, and I still can't figure it out." Releasing a heavy sigh, I turn around, walking away from him.

"Go Meredith," Derek says angrily from behind me, "Go do that. Go walk away again. That's what you do best right? Walk away? Things are getting hard, and once again, you're walking away."

My breathing hitches and I stopped, closing my eyes in complete anger when I heard Derek's words. I turned around, and without knowing what I was doing, I charged at him like a raging bull, stopping short in front of him. Derek stared at me, breathing heavily and for a split-second, my vision darkened and my hand rose, slapping him straight across the cheek. The impact echoed, leaving us both empty and silent at the same time.

"I didn't leave you Derek. Not once, not ever. Because all this time—all this time you've spent leaving me, I've always stayed, waiting for you. So no, you don't get to tell me that I constantly leave you, because you're the one who always do."

Derek watches me carefully and I breathe, my finger once again finding its place stabbing Derek's chest.

"And you know what; _I'm the one_ who couldn't ever leave you. I'm not the one who walks away because things get hard, _IT'S YOU._

"Remember when your ex-wife cheated on you? You ran away, Derek. You flew halfway across the country to get away from her. She shows up here and you run away again, choosing her over me because it's the easier choice."

I can feel that my world is spinning, and I steel myself from the oncoming wave of nausea that is threatening to surge my body. Derek instinctively reaches out by I step away, instead, holding on to the bridge's handrail to steady myself before I continued.

"And sure Derek, I've made mistakes, but I never left. Sure, I didn't tell you things, and I know it's my fault. Because I'm the one with the daddy and mommy issues and the abandonment issues and the trust issues, but I never left you because I didn't want to leave you behind." I hiss at him angrily, facing him head on, "And I didn't die."

"Yes, you…"

"I DIDN'T DIE!" I remind him again, screaming at him just in case he didn't understand. "DEAD PEOPLE DON'T COME BACK DEREK, THEY DON'T STAND IN FRONT OF YOU BREATHING AND SCREAMING!"

I stepped away from him, tears streaming down my face. "I didn't die, Derek, and I'm going to keep telling you this until you understand," I told him, looking straight at his eyes, "I may not be breathing or my heart may have stopped back then, but I didn't die. Because dead people don't come back and I fought death for you. I fought death to be with you because I can't be in a place without you. So stop, just stop telling me that I'm always leaving you because I NEVER DID.

"And this? This mess that we're in right now? It's all on you. You can go off kissing scrub nurses and dating and whatever, and I won't care, because really, if you're happy, then go on. But I'm not going to pretend that I'm not getting hurt. Because I'd rather be somewhere else without you doing things that keep breaking my heart."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop saying sorry Derek."

"I should've showed up."

"Yeah," I say, once again stepping away from him, "You should have."

There are things where we don't have control. Like me, fighting for something that I never thought I'd never ever have in my life. Or leaving Derek to slump back down on the wall, utterly defeated.

I didn't let Derek defend himself today. And I didn't let him defend himself last night. And right now, as I'm walking away from him while he looked like a sad, little puppy, I'm happy to say that I've done my part. For the first time in my life, I'm making sure that I'm doing the right thing _for me_, not for anyone else, but for me.

"_I love you, Meredith."_

Derek calls after me as he watches my retreating form. I, on the other hand have decided to move forward, and grow up.

I'm not walking away, I'm really not. But I can't trust Derek, and I've given him my heart more than once, only to have it back broken and battered. Sure, I'm used to the pain, but it doesn't mean that I'm okay with it—because really, I'm not.

I love Derek, I really do. And I'm still fighting for that chance with him, and I'm hoping he does too.

**END**


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